


quiet, sweetling

by lady__sansa_stark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Some birthday trash for a trash queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:36:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady__sansa_stark/pseuds/lady__sansa_stark
Summary: “Don’t worry, sweetling,” he said, backing Sansa further until the cold plaster sent chills down her spine. Petyr leaned in to nibble a line up her jaw – feeling her short breaths against his cheek as he traveled higher. Despite her earlier protestations as he followed her upstairs, Sansa was slowly rolling her hips against his leg that he’d pressed between her thighs. Always so greedy. Petyr smiled as he he reached her ear, biting the earlobe.“As long as you’re quiet, no one will know.”





	quiet, sweetling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ocularis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocularis/gifts).



> Inspired by this gifset: http://lady--sansa-stark.tumblr.com/post/168188374729
> 
> For @catladyofthecanals – Happy Birthday, girl!
> 
> [‘Cause she’s a damn greedy bitch when it comes to pxs trash ;P]

 

              “Don’t worry, sweetling,” he said, backing Sansa further until the cold plaster sent chills down her spine. Petyr leaned in to nibble a line up her jaw – feeling her short breaths against his cheek as he traveled higher. Despite her earlier protestations as he followed her upstairs, Sansa was slowly rolling her hips against his leg that he’d pressed between her thighs. Always so  _ greedy _ . Petyr smiled as he he reached her ear, biting the earlobe. “As long as you’re quiet, no one will know.”

              They meant to do this  _ after _ everyone else went to sleep. Much easier to get away with fucking your niece when no one was awake to catch them. Granted, they still would have to be  _ quiet _ – no matter how huge the estate was, in the dead of night with only wind howling at the windows, Sansa was not one to be  _ quiet _ beneath Petyr’s ministrations. She was always eager to let him know just how much his fingers felt good. Or his mouth. Or cock.

              They meant to do this tonight, with all the family asleep. But the way Sansa looked in that modest skirt that left her immodest legs open for viewing (of which he remembered how they looked wrapped around his waist last night. Or spread for him, her wanting cunt just as eager to be filled as Petyr’s cock was to fill it). How she looked in that loose-fitting sweater (of which he  _ swore _ she wasn’t wearing a bra. He was right). There was nothing Sansa could wear that would make her unpretty. 

              Petyr just couldn’t help himself from following his niece into the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

              He turned her around, nudging her on top of the counter, bottles and knickknacks scooting away. One clattered into the sink – Sansa rushed to set it right, but Petyr grabbed her hand. There wasn’t time to deal with fallen bottles when her cunt was calling him.

              “What did you  _ think  _ I was going to do, when you look so delicious, sweetling? Especially when you went to all the trouble of  _ teasing _ me not putting on a bra.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingertips

              Sansa giggled. “You noticed…”

              “How could I not?” Petyr snaked his free hand beneath her sweater, squeezing one for emphasis. “It was all I could do not to lean in and touch them during dinner.”

              It was true. Petyr had been sat across from his niece, and through the array of candles and flowers and food in the table center’s, his eyes had been glue to every movement that shifted Sansa’s breasts beneath her sweater. Thick enough that her nipples (of which, he  _ knew _ had to be hard beneath his stare) wouldn’t poke through to scolding from her parents. But loose enough that Petyr wondered if everyone else was blind to the beauty beneath the fabric, or if he might have become a little too addicted to her skin.

              Maybe a little of both.

              Petyr pushed up that damned sweater, tasting her breasts (he was right about that too – her nipples were hard. Responsive beneath his swirling tongue). Sansa moaned, leaning her head against the mirror. As much as he didn’t want to, Petyr pulled away just enough. “Remember, sweetling.  _ Quiet _ .”

              She stared down at him through half-lidded eyes. By the Seven, if she was this turned on already… “But I thought you liked it when I wasn’t…?”

_ Gods _ .

              Petyr felt his cock twitch in his pants. This girl, this woman – a temptress, clad in porcelain skin and autumn hair, with eyes as deep as the oceans that Petyr had yet seen the bottommost depth of. Sansa was going to be the death of him. 

              No one else would have her. That, Petyr made sure.

              His fingers roamed down her chest, mapping her skin like he’d never seen it before (he had, a hundred times at least, and each time he was always startled at how fucking perfect her body was. How easily it arched beneath his touch, how her breasts or hips filled his hands like Sansa was made for him). Petyr pulled down her panties to her knees, trapping her. Bunching up her skirt at her waist so her womanhood was on full display for him. Sansa even went so far as to spread her legs as far as she could on the counter.

              Beautiful. Breathtaking. 

              “I’m going to eat your perfect little cunt, sweetling,” he began, kneeling before her – a position he found himself in time and time again when it came to Sansa. One that Petyr knew he would do a million times more. “If you make one sound, I’ll stop.”

              Sansa hitched her breath (Petyr meanwhile watched her breasts rise and fall at the action). Licked her lips slowly (Petyr watched that, too). She wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, but he could see how difficult this was going to be for her. Still: “Okay.”

              Petyr trailed his teeth in a line up her inner thigh. Sansa gripped one hand on the counter and one in his hair, spurring him to dig into her skin harder. He obliged, reaching her aching core that was already wet, so wet, for him. A sight Petyr couldn’t get enough of.

              He lapped around her outer lips, drinking in the heady scent of her. Bit the hood of her clit, but didn’t offer her any further release. Not until...

              “ _ Please, _ Petyr,” she begged, the words hardly a whisper.

_ There it is _ . No sweeter sound existed in this world or the next than Sansa begging. Only slightly better than the sounds she made when she came.

              Petyr grabbed her ass and pulled her into his mouth, digging his tongue deep between her folds. Sansa gasped, catching herself before the moan escaped her lips. Both her hands found purchase in his hair, trying to pull him away and pull him in at the same time. Aching for his touch. Petyr dug his fingernails into the flesh of her ass, hoping to find ten small presents for him when he would take her tonight. 

              Sansa’s breathing was erratic, constrained as it was. Petyr felt her legs shaking between him as he didn’t relent his ministrations inside her cunt. Lapping over every last part of her, nibbling at her clit, and over and over again. He was determined to make her come with only his mouth – and he’d done it before.

              “ _ Fu _ -” she began, her mind barely stopping the words, the need that coursed through her. Good, because at this point, Petyr wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop, either. Sansa rolled her hips in tune with his tongue. Pulling and pushing on his head, too, a silent beg to go  _ deeper _ . Harder. Faster.

              She came as Petyr suckled her clit, her need as delicious as the first time he tasted her all those months ago. And in this very house, too. The secrecy of it all made the sin that much better.

              Sansa continued moving her hips against his tongue until finally – for what felt like forever – her orgasm subsided into a dull softness. Petyr all the while drank every last bit of her desire, not willing to let what he’d done to her go to waste. A trophy, of sorts, if it hadn’t tasted so damn good. 

              What in the name of the Seven did Petyr do to be blessed with someone like Sansa? Because weighing all the good and all the bad... Some divine creature miscounted. Heavily.

              “Gods.” He said, resting his cheek against her thigh, inhaling the deep scent of her need. Licking clean the remnants of it from his lips as he stared at his niece. “You have the most delicious cunt in all the Seven Kingdoms. Did you know that?”

              Sansa’s cheeks were as bright as her hair already, but Petyr could see the additional flush at his compliment. He loved that. Loved how Sansa was so unashamedly  _ open _ around him, and he her. 

              They allowed a few moments for their bodies to come back to reality before righting their masks, their clothes. “I’ll be taking these,” Petyr said, slipping her panties into his back pocket (which he had bought her as a gift last time she visited him. And now they were a gift for him). 

              “But-”

              “But what, sweetling?” Petyr rose to kiss her on the lips. Let her taste what her taunting had done to her, to him. “You’d best be careful, in case someone realizes what a naughty girl you actually are.”

              Sansa brushed her hand against his need, and Petyr had half a mind to say  _ fuck it _ . “Oh. So you’re saying it would be bad for me to bend over? Or even take a seat on your lap…?”

              Gods, if Sansa didn’t know what she did to him.

_ Of course _ she knew. She’s always known. Sansa was just as  _ wicked _ as he was – she was just better at hiding it beneath a facade of innocence and purity. Oh, if her family knew the  _ terrible _ things she let Petyr do to her,  _ asked _ Petyr to do. There was no hell low enough for either of them. 

              In that sea of sapphire was a spark, a flitter of shadow, that told him how much the idea turned Sansa on, too. What  _ if _ she showed everyone her pretty cunt, the line of Petyr’s teeth a damning trail towards her lips? What  _ if _ she found a better seat on his lap, on his cock?

              He would just about die. At least, before the entire household murdered him. But what a death: his cock buried in Sansa’s cunt, her cries a pell just before he died. Petyr grinned, something he imagined looked an awful lot like the devil’s. “Oh  _ Sansa _ . And to think I was the one dragging you down into sin…”

              Sansa smiled back, an exact facsimile of the one on his face. To a lesser man, the sight was terrifying. A woman so unashamed in what she wanted, free to use him to get off. But Petyr only ever wanted from Sansa  _ more _ .

              And by the gods, she was willing to give him that.


End file.
